Choices
by nightchild78
Summary: By intervening on a crime scene, Greg saves a life and makes a choice that will turn his life upside down in more ways than one. Love and fluff with a dash of angst for good measure. Eventually Greg/OFC. Set after season 7 and "Fannysmackin" but before season 9 (no main character death). AU after that.
1. Day shift

**Title : **Choices - Chapter 1: Day shift  
**Summary : **By intervening on a crime scene, Greg saves a life and makes a choice that will turn his life upside down in more ways than one. Because Greg is my favourite character in the CSI show and I think he deserves more love and happiness. Love and fluff with a dash of angst for good measure. Eventually Greg/OFC. Can be considered as AU.  
**Rating :**M  
**Characters: **Greg Sanders, Gil Grissom, Sara Sidle, Nick Stokes, Warrick Brown, Catherine Willows, Lindsey Willows, Dr Albert Robbins, Dr David Philips, Original characters (Cassandra Fisher, Anna Sanders, Dr Melinda Travis, Lucy Travis).  
**Pairing :** Greg/OFC, Gil/Sara  
**Genres: **Alternate universe/romance/angst.  
**Warnings: **Violence (nothing really graphic), swearing, sexual situation, possible OOC.  
**Spoilers: **Set after season 7 and "Fannysmackin" but before season 9 (no main character death). AU after that.

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. 

**Author's Notes **: Special thanks to my wonderful beta reader **smuffly**. This is my first venture into the CSI fandom, so don't be too hard on me. I'm new at it and have missed a lot of episodes (the French broadcast is more erratic L). I'm not really used to US slang and technical words, so I hope it won't be too ridiculous.

CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI

Greg parked near the crime scene and waited for the dust kicked up by the Denali to fall back before getting out of the car.

The sun was already high in the sky. It reflected harshly on the ochre earth of the desert and Greg slipped on his sun glasses before facing the sweltering heat.

As with any new case, a shiver ran down his spine at the sight of the yellow tape and he wondered if he would ever get rid of the sick feeling he felt every time he arrived at a crime scene.

He didn't know exactly what to expect. An outbreak of gastroenteritis had wreaked havoc on the day shift and Ecklie had only warned him the night before that his day off had been cancelled since he had been requisitioned to lend them an extra hand. A second call on his cell phone that morning, just before he came to the lab, had given him instructions to go straight to a newly built housing estate at the edge of the desert for a double homicide. There had been no elaboration.

He heaved a deep sigh and went to get his kit from the trunk of the car. Out of the corner of his eye, he briefly assessed the scene.

The yellow tape surrounded a brand new house at the end of an alley, its back to the desert. It was flanked by two other houses that were not yet finished. The land around the building was still fallow and judging by the absence of onlookers, its occupants were probably amongst the first residents who had settled in the area.

A district still in progress, with few neighbours ; a cul-de-sac with little traffic : the ideal conditions for a murderer to act safely .

He locked the doors of the Denali and headed to the house.

The turmoil reigning around the place didn't hint at anything good. Oddly, the ambulance was still there and the number of patrol cars parked nearby was significantly higher than the normal average for a simple homicide.

A glance at the CSI logo on Greg's waistcoat and his case was enough for the cop in charge of the perimeter to hold up the tape with a short nod. No badge was necessary.

Greg ducked under the tape and thanked him with a similar nod.

Getting closer, he caught sight of a familiar figure dressed in white and crowned with a strawberry blond mane. She leaned over a body that lay with its face against the ground in the middle of the street, right in front of the house. He immediately recognized the Chief Medical Examiner of the day shift, Dr. Melinda Travis, and his mood lightened substantially.

Usually, she didn't intervene on the crime scenes and left it to her assistants, but given the circumstances, everyone had been called to the rescue. After all, crime had no respect for sick leave.

Although they didn't know each other well and they had only had a few opportunities to work together in the past, Greg liked Dr. Travis, whom everyone simply called Doc or Mel, depending on the degree of intimacy that she had with them.

After a successful career in the ER for almost ten years, some family necessities had led her to succeed Dr Spencer a year and a half earlier, when he had finally retired after twenty five years of good and loyal service.

Unlike some of her colleagues, he had never seen her being arrogant or condescending. She was always friendly and polite with the scientific teams and also showed a perfect intransigence with regard to the respect for the victims. This trait, that had allowed her, over time, to gain the sympathy of most of the people with whom she worked, had also earned her some hostility, especially in the ranks of the police, where jokes about the dead were customary, and some old-timers didn't take well to being told off by a woman, particularly a woman younger than themselves. Not that it seemed to upset her, though. Nothing ever seemed to upset her and it was somehow… restful.

"Hi, Doc."

She raised her eyes at him and a warm smile lit up her freckled face. "Hey, Greg! Sorry about your day off. I hope you hadn't planned something."

He pulled a face and shrugged noncommittally. "Nothing important. But I'd have enjoyed the rare chance to sleep late."

She chuckled and shook her head. "Tell me about it."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Captain Jim Brass coming out of the house and heading towards them.

"Sanders," Brass greeted him.

"Hey, Brass. What've we got?" he asked him, unable to stop staring at the dead woman lying on the pavement in front of him, dressed only in light pink pyjamas.

Brass glanced at his notes whilst Greg crouched beside the corpse, took his camera from his case and started to take pictures of the body.

"Robert and Kayla Fisher. Moved directly from Reno three weeks ago, after the husband got a promotion as manager of the local branch of Biomedics, a company specializing in the treatment of cancer. The wife had apparently got a job as HR manager of a casino and should have started next week." He winced. "They didn't even have time to unpack all the boxes."

"Where's the husband?" Greg asked, raising his head.

Brass nodded towards the house behind him.

"In the entrance, with a bullet lodged in his chest. Unlike his wife, he didn't even have time to try and escape from his murderer."

Greg pointed at the paramedics in the distance. "Why are they still there?"

"Their daughter, Cassie, is missing."

"How old?"

"Three years old."

Greg cringed inwardly. He hated cases involving children. He'd have happily gone through ten dumpsters rather than have to work on a missing child case.

Brass carried on. "Amber alert is activated and our men are going through the area with a fine-tooth comb, but so far, no trace of her. K9 unit is expected at any minute."

"You think perhaps our killer took her with him?" Greg asked.

Brass shrugged but didn't answer. They both knew that the chances of finding her alive were more than thin, given the circumstances.

"Who found the bodies?"

"Rebecca Flanders, the babysitter. She came to take Cassie to school. When she found Mrs Fisher lying in the middle of the street with two bullets in her back, she turned on her heel and called the police," he explained, nodding slightly in the direction of the body.

Greg looked down at the victim then raised his eyes towards Doctor Travis, who was proceeding to retrieve her thermometer from Mrs Fisher's liver.

"I'd say time of death was about three or four hours ago," she told them, pushing away a cowlick with the back of her gloved hand. "As for the husband, he was killed by a .45 caliber. Death was instantaneous."

She stood up, dusted her jeans and donned her sunglasses.

"I think I'll be able to give you my report by the end of the afternoon. Tell me when I can remove the bodies." She took her leave of them and headed to her car.

In turn, Greg slowly unfolded his long frame and headed for the house with Brass, hoping he would find something that would help them to track down Cassie Fisher, preferably alive, or at least to catch the murderer of her parents.

_To be continued_


	2. In the house

**Title: **Choices - Chapter 2: In the house  
**Summary: **By intervening on a crime scene, Greg saves a life and makes a choice that will turn his life upside down in more than one way. Because Greg is my favourite character in the CSI show and I think he deserves more love and happiness. Love and fluff with a dash of angst for good measure. Eventually Greg/OFC. Can be considered as AU.  
**Rating : **M for later chapters  
**Characters: **Greg Sanders, Gil Grissom, Sara Sidle, Nick Stokes, Warrick Brown, Catherine Willows, Lindsey Willows, Dr Albert Robbins, Dr David Philips, Original characters (Cassandra Fisher, Anna Sanders, Dr Melinda Travis, Lucy Travis).  
**Pairing:** Greg/OFC, Gil/Sara  
**Genres: **Alternate universe/romance/angst.  
**Warnings: **Violence (nothing really graphic), swearing, sexual situation, possible OOC.  
**Spoilers: **Set after season 7 and "Fannysmackin" but before season 9. AU.

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Author's Notes:** Special thanks to smuffly for the great job she did for making this fic readable. Also thanks to everyone who read and favorited this fic and gave it a chance to live. Hope you like this new chapter.

CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI

Greg went up the path in Brass's wake, taking care to avoid the bloody footprints left by Kayla Fisher in her flight.

Throughout their slow progress, he took pictures of each footprint together with numbered markers. All of them had been made by bare feet. The killer had taken care not to step in the blood and didn't seem to have left any trace of his passage on the pathway or on the turned ground intended to accommodate a future lawn.

Once at the front door, he paused to slip on his latex gloves, lit his Maglite and knelt to examine the lock. He found no scratches or traces suggesting it had been forced. The Fishers had obviously opened it willingly to their murderer.

He straightened up, stuck his flashlight into his pocket and hooked his sunglasses at the neckline of his shirt, before taking a deep breath and crossing the threshold. Immediately, the acrid smell of cordite mingled with the metallic one of blood assaulted his nostrils. It was a familiar scent, to which he had become accustomed, but in spite of the air-conditioning it made the atmosphere seem heavy and oppressive.

The entry consisted of a wide hallway opening onto a large living room and an open plan kitchen whose countertop and two chrome stools could be seen from the door. Along the wall on the right, a half-dozen identical boxes were neatly stacked and waiting to be unpacked.

A staircase leading to the bedrooms occupied the left side. The walls were bare and covered with an uneven white paint. The tiled floor itself was light gray and the only spot of colour came from the pool of dark red coagulated blood in which Robert Fisher's body was bathed. Lying on his back, almost at the foot of the stairs, one arm at shoulder height and the other along the body, he stared at the ceiling with his dead eyes, an expression of utter stupor on his face.

Brass's radio crackled and he walked a few steps away to respond. Vaguely, Greg heard him complaining that the K9 unit wasn't yet arrived, but he was too absorbed by the analysis of the crime scene to really pay attention. Anyway, crisis management was Brass's concern. Greg's domain was limited to fingerprints and collecting indices and DNA.

Once again, he took pictures of the body and the traces of blood and placed markers so that the ME could take the bodies away as quickly as possible.

Unlike his wife, Robert Fisher was already dressed. Dark blue suit, white shirt and gray tie, he was probably about to go to work when his assassin had knocked at the door. The position of the body, with its back to the door, confirmed that he knew his attacker or, in any case, was confident enough to let them into his home.

From the position of the body and the aspect of the wound in his chest, it seemed likely that Fisher's killer had stood between the entrance of the living room-kitchen and the victim. Which opened the way to two hypotheses: either the murderer had shot him on his arrival, after Fisher had invited him to go to the living room, or when the victim had been accompanying him towards the exit.

Greg knelt beside the body, put his camera on the ground and pulled out two brown paper bags from the kit, to wrap the victim's hands before transport. Given the circumstances, it was more than unlikely that he would find anything under his nails, but Greg still had to take all the necessary precautions.

Once it was done, he stood up and stepped carefully over Robert Fisher's body, taking care not to step in the puddle of blood. Then he carefully studied the footprints that started from it. He made a new series of shots in close-ups which clearly showed a heel and half of a sole. Given the orientation of the footprints, his wife must have been upstairs when the sound of the shot had alerted her. It was a safe bet to assume that she had hurtled down the stairs, before coming across the corpse of her husband and his assassin. In an attempt to escape, she had slipped in fresh blood. The killer had then chased her down the street and shot her in the back.

It remained to be discovered where little Cassie Fisher had been amidst all that mess.

A uni joined Brass and spoke to him in a low voice. The Captain turned towards Greg. "I have to check something with Parker. I'll be back in no time. I'll leave Jenkins at the door, okay?"

He motioned to another uni stationed outside, who nodded to Greg non-committally.

Since Nick had been abducted and buried alive, Brass and his colleagues had become particularly fussy about security issues on crime scenes and it was now out of the question to leave the forensics without protection whilst they were collecting evidence.

Greg returned the nod.

"No problem. I'll stick to the ground floor for now."

Brass nodded in turn and went out, leaving the door open and Jenkins planted on the mat, thumbs tucked into his belt.

Greg grabbed his kit and turned to the vast living room.

There again, the walls were blank, without paintings or any other decoration. More boxes, identical to those in the entrance, occupied an entire section of wall under the window overlooking the street. A large cream coloured sofa and two matching armchairs filled part of the living room, around a coffee table in glass. Facing the sofa, a complex system of sockets, fixed to the wall, was ready to receive a home cinema system still in its original packaging.

The recent promotion of Robert Fisher had clearly been accompanied by an increase in his finances, no doubt making him eager to invest in the comfort of his family.

The rest of the room was furnished with a sideboard, a long dining table covered in white lacquer and six chairs of modern design.

The third section of the wall was made over along its entire width by a sliding glass door opening onto a patio. As for the street side lawn, the ground was still bare. The workers hadn't yet finished installing the fence, which was hanging limply at the end of a metal pole.

On the sideboard, Greg noticed a family picture in a silver frame. It was a recent photo of the couple with their daughter, taken in front of their new house. He approached and studied the picture. Seeing them so cheerful and carefree, he thought they were the very image of the typical American family. Robert, blond and athletic, probably a track star in his youth. Kayla, a petite brunette with laughing eyes. Each of them had a hand on the shoulder of their daughter, a lovely little girl with light brown hair and a doll-like face adorned with two dimples, whose immense hazel eyes were sparkling with joy.

Greg stood up, an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something felt wrong in this scene of domestic bliss, but he couldn't say what.

Leaving his musings, he turned his attention back to his work. The ME and the police were waiting for him and he couldn't afford to waste his time with those sorts of digressions.

He quickly checked the living room, but the place showed no sign of fight or search which meant that burglary could probably be ruled out as a motive.

Greg then turned to the kitchen, which, in contrast, showed obvious signs of struggle.

The stool at the end of the counter was lying on the ground. A pink plastic bowl had been spilled on the counter and its contents were scattered all over the floor creating a puddle of dried milk sprinkled with animal shaped cereals.

Beside the bowl, a blue mug, still half-full of cold coffee, stood next to a plate of jellified scrambled eggs. The last meal of Robert Fisher before he went to open the door to his murderer.

Greg took a new series of photos of the counter and the floor, and then decided it was time to call Doctor Travis and let her remove the bodies.

As he was walking back to the patio door, his eyes were caught by a tiny dark red spot amidst the splashes of milk and his heart skipped a beat. Bingo! It was a directional drop of blood, heading to the patio.

He slid open one of the glass panels and blinked, dazzled by the scorching sun. Promptly donning his sunglasses, he soon noticed another drop of the same shape on the frame of the door, then another one on the flagstones of the terrace.

Greg turned and opened his mouth to warn Jenkins, but the uni wasn't at the front door anymore and Greg couldn't see him anywhere, or Brass either. He sighed wearily.

_Of course._

Greg shook his head and leaned over the thin track made by the tiny drops of blood.

He found yet another one a little farther towards the unfinished fence and felt a growing sense of apprehension.

Greg ran a frustrated hand in his hair. He turned once again towards the inside of the house where the body of Robert Fisher seemed to taunt him. Silencing the voice in his head that was ordering him to find Brass and warn him, he suddenly grabbed a stack of numbered markers in his suitcase and began to go up the track through the arid desert that extended out of sight before him.

_10, 11, 12, 13, 14..._

The stack of markers diminished at a vertiginous speed, as Greg was progressing through the desolate landscape, farther and farther from the house.

_23, 24, 25, 26..._

The blood drops began to space out. He knew he should have turned back to the house and sought help, but he couldn't take his eyes off of the blood on the ground, each drop leading to another one, again and again. The heat was suffocating. He felt rivulets of sweat running along his back and soaking his shirt, but he had to keep on going.

_35, 36, 37, 38..._

Not far away from there, a bird flew with a shriek. He looked up and froze. His breathing quickened as he took a few hurried steps towards a bunch of stunted shrubs and caught sight of a tiny bare foot, flayed and stained with dust, emerging from a bright orange nightgown.

He stopped a few feet from the shrubs and his heart sank in his chest.

He had just found Cassie Fisher.

_To be continued_


End file.
